


Pirouette and Little Muffin (the roughness in the diamonds)

by Pearly_Pornography



Series: Pearly's Preklok Fics [8]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Hell, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Preklok, Secret Gay, Stress-Eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Skwisgaar knew the kid liked him. But he didn't want any part of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a very short drabble

They were hardly conversational. The only time Skwisgaar ever had a conversation for a long time was when he was drunk and drugged up beyond belief. He didn't like people, aside from their various entrances and exits, per se. But he certainly could read people, despite his aloofness and avoidance. Otherwise he wouldn't be so great in bed, after all. He knew more about his bandmates than they told him, for sure. The way Nathan would tentatively rub the back of his neck when he said anything remotely nice. He secretly cared about other people. The way Pickles would bite his lip during certain activities. Sexual empowerment, most likely. 

And most blatantly, the way William Murderface talked, looked at and acted around him was really gay.

The glimmer in his eyes whenever he'd see Skwisgaar fiddling with his guitar, watching the way he played when he wasn't even trying. The minutes during practice where he'd stop playing for a moment to admire Skwisgaar's technique before Nathan or Magnus shouted at him. The numerous times he'd lose fashion photos taken of himself, only to find them in Murderface's back pocket whilst he was roughly digging through junk in his bedroom. The times when Skwisgaar would pat his shoulder for a job well done, and his face would squeeze into a weird expression that was half-grin and half-holding back tears. The swollen, over-emotional smiles he'd break into whenever Skwisgaar approached him, even if he was just asking for a glass of water or something. And the more time Skwisgaar spent knowing him, the more he became attached, with his constant attempts to impress a self-proclaimed guitar god. Overly willing to do things for him, and as excited as he ever was when they were together

He didn't like it.

He really didn't like it.

Not because he had anything in particular against Murderface. Sure, he was ugly, over-emotional, volatile, loud, and not particularly skilled musically in comparison to himself or the others. But he was a member of the band, and at some level, a member of Skwisgaar's own little family. Even if he was crude and smelled bad. But he certainly wasn't in search of any sort of relationship on the long-term, and even if he was, Murderface would not be his first, second, tenth, or even hundredth choice. For a great many reasons that really nobody had any right questioning. If they knew the kid, they certainly wouldn't want a relationship with him.

The fact that he was a very inexperienced juvenile, though only a year below Skwisgaar's own age, certainly didn't help the matter. Awkward, lanky, violent and over-enthusiastic. He reminded Skwisgaar of a child, which, painfully, made his future even worse in retrospect.

(Though he never said he would protect Murderface.)

(At some level, it was implied.)

His dumb father figure (and future boyfriend) Magnus didn't assist his attempts. If anything he was twice as against Skwisgaar dating Murderface as Skwisgaar himself was. That man had no sense of trust, it was actually kind of amazing he let anyone live with him. Even IF Murderface was tiny and unassuming. 

"If you lay a hand on him," he'd always say, "I'll cut you limb from limb and flush your guts down a public toilet."

"Ja, haves funs wit' dats."

So he never never never laid a hand on him. Aside from occasionally directing him through the streets by his shoulders or patting his head. It was just a little crush, and sadly, Skwisgaar couldn't fend him off. There was no way of curing it.

He returned to reality, staring at Murderface, who was nervously drinking a chocolate milkshake. (The third one he'd asked for.)

"...Dat ams goods?"

"Uhhuh." 

"You... uh..."

"A hamburger." He paused. "I want."

"I... okays."

His fingers were twitching around the cheap sandwich. Skwisgaar decided to break eye contact, possibly making things a bit less uncomfortable for the interaction-incapable little bastard. He decided not to mention this was Murderface's fifth burger in the past hour. (Part of him didn't want to know how or why.)

"...Schwischgaar." He was shaking then. "What doesch it mean when a guy aschksch you to schuck hisch dick, but doeschn't pay you?"

"What."

"D-don't make me repeat it! God!"

"...Someones aksking you's to gives dem--"

"Shshshsh! Don't schay it too loud..." He hunched over his shoulders. "There'sch children here!"

"Ehm..." Skwisgaar scratched the back of his neck. "Well, I 'tinks dats means he 'tinks you's cute. And probablies... uh, he ams likes you?"

"Likesch?"

"Ja, likes, uh... he haves crushes."

"...On me?"

"Sure."

"Even if they're kinda mean to you about it?"

"Somes peoples just shows dey's appremecations dat ways."

"Appreciationsch?"

"Ja, dat."

His face crawled into a wild expression, smiling ear to ear with his messy teeth pointing out of his lips. 

"Magnusch likesch me?" He slammed his hands on the table. "That much?"

"How old ams he?"

"Who caresch?!" He stood up and ran out of his chair before Skwisgaar could even think of stopping him. "I've got a boyfriend!"


End file.
